


Sacred

by mezzo_cammin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Off-World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mezzo_cammin/pseuds/mezzo_cammin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney has the munchies.  John is there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacred

“No, but— _really?”_ Rodney asks.

John takes another long toke from the Sacred Friendship Ghanjeet and choke-coughs his answer. “Oh, hell yeah, McKay. Reaaaaallly.” John passes the Ghanjeet back to the tribal elder, puts an arm over Rodney’s shoulders, and leans in, releasing a stream of fragrant smoke that snakes its way over Rodney’s parted lips and into his flaring nostrils.

The tribal leader beams at them and passes the joi– the Sacred Friendship Ghanjeet to Ronon, who takes it gingerly and looks at John, both eyebrows raised.

“Go ahead,” John says, as he tugs Rodney a little closer to his side. “Hit it.”

Ronon shrugs. He draws just a tiny amount of the smoke into his mouth and puffs it back out without inhaling it.

The tribal leader frowns.

Teyla nudges Ronon with her elbow and says, “Ronon! If you cannot Partake, I will be happy to assume the role of warrior for our people and you may be my –” She stops as Ronon flicks the ash off the end of the Ghanjeet, winks at her, and sucks hard on it, chest expanding and making little hiccups as he tries to keep the smoke in his lungs.

Teyla leans in and places her forehead on Ronon’s in the Athosian manner, and he blows the smoke, little by little, into her face. She breathes in deeply, smiling like a naughty angel.

Rodney watches them and thinks – she’s beautiful. Really, unbelievably _lovely_. Warrior-woman of Athos. His friend. His teammate. He’d die for her if he had to.

And Ronon. Strong, smart, crafty Ronon, and Rodney thinks he’s beautiful, too, warrior of Sateda, with his scars and his tattoos and his… his… hair. He’d die for Ronon too, if he had to. The knowledge comes to Rodney out of nowhere, and it’s a sudden, soul-deep epiphany, one he knows is true, and he – he likes it, this part of himself that is new, that isn’t the way he used to be before he had teammates. Mates who were team. Yeah, and that’s –

“Hey,” John whispers, and Rodney turns his head, just a little, away from Teyla and Ronon, and he’s staring into John’s eyes, and it’s true, the eyes _are_ a window into the soul, and John’s soul is hungry, it’s yearning, and oh, John. _John_. Rodney would die a hundred times for John if he had to, a thousand, even, and wouldn’t regret one of them. Because John is – more than just strong, and beautiful, and warrior of Atlantis, like Teyla and Ronon. He’s more than team, more than mate, John is _heart_ and _life_ and _soul_ and, “I’d die for you, if I had to,” Rodney says, and John’s nodding, he’s saying, “Me, too. Me, too,” and he’s framing Rodney’s face in his hands, leaning in, brushing his lips against Rodney’s mouth. Rodney mirrors the gesture, fingers gentle in John’s hair, thumbs rubbing against his ears, and they kiss again, soft, lush, smoke-flavored mouths fitting perfectly together with the ease of familiarity.

The tribal leader coughs.

John draws back, slowly, and he’s smiling at Rodney, and Rodney wants John to always look at him that way, he wants –

The other members of the tribal council begin to clap and laugh, until the tribal leader stands, spreads his arms out, and proclaims loudly,

“Welcome, friends of Lantea! Our People will joyfully accept your offers of trade. Our People will joyfully accept you as our brethren, as our fellow warriors, and as our friends, just as we accepted the Athosians so many generations ago. Truly, you are worthy…”

The tribal leader has a lot more to say along those lines. A lot. Rodney sits there in the clearing, the wind sighing gently through the trees, the afternoon sun warm on his neck, and he basks. He’s a little drowsy, and so he leans his head against John’s shoulder, and John tucks his arm around Rodney and moves his shoulder down a little so there’s a softer place for Rodney to rest his cheek. Rodney sighs happily, and dozes while the tribal leader drones on and on.

“Hey,” John says, and Rodney’s bumpy pillow is moving away.

“Wha– ?” Rodney jerks awake. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the sun is still high overhead, so he thinks it was less than an hour, maybe. The tribal council members are all standing, and Ronon and Teyla are in the process of rising to their feet as well. John stands and holds out his hand to Rodney, who takes it and uses it to pull himself up. He stumbles a little, dizzy, and John’s hand is on his back, bracing him.

“You okay?” John asks, tilting Rodney’s chin up, and Rodney blinks and sways, head feeling as though it might float off his shoulders at any moment.

“Um,” Rodney says, uncertain. John tells him to sit back down and put his head between his knees, so he does, because that sounds like something he should do, and John is his leader, and Rodney should always follow his orders.

Teyla and Ronon are there, then, and Rodney registers concerned voices buzzing around like angry insects. Far away insects, muffled in their cocoons. He hears John’s voice first, threaded with anger and fear, and he hears the tribal leader, laughing, and then Ronon’s voice, gone soft and dangerous, and Rodney tries to stand back up then, ready to die for them, if he needs to, but then Teyla’s voice is calm like reason, and soothing like peace, and John’s hand is stroking his hair, gentle, and telling him no one needs to die for anyone right now, buddy, so Rodney relaxes and goes back to sleep.

 

*****

“Hey,” John says, and it’s still daylight, but they’re not outside anymore. Rodney becomes conscious of the muted sunlight, and the smell of something spicy, like cinnamon and acorns and mint, and he knows that it’s John, recognizes the feel of John’s fingers on his wrist.

“We’re still on Ghanja,” John says, and Rodney is glad John doesn’t wait for him to ask. “Turns out you had a pretty strong reaction to the wacky weed of friendship, but it’s nothing to worry about. They said it happens sometimes. You thirsty?”

“Mmm.” Rodney tries to lick his lips and realizes he doesn’t have enough saliva on his tongue to do it. He takes the canteen cup that John holds out for him and drinks thirstily from it. Clear, cold, Lantean water soothes his dry mouth.

“Got the munchies?” John asks, one eyebrow raised, and Rodney snorts. He sees the tension ease out of John’s shoulders.

“Why? ‘d you bring some snacks?”

“As a matter of fact –” John reaches behind him and produces a bag of slightly crushed Lay’s potato chips, and a Snickers bar.

“Wow. How very Boy Scout-ish of you.” Rodney makes a ‘gimme’ motion, and John pulls the bag open at the top and hands it to him.

“Well, Teyla was pretty specific about what the Friendship ritual was going to entail, so, yeah. I figured, why not?”

“So.” Rodney gestures around him at the semi-opaque material of the tent. “Guest quarters?”

“Yeah. Kind of short notice, since they weren’t expecting to put us up for the night. Teyla and Ronon went on back to Atlantis, and I need to check in before long to let them know if we need any help. Do we?” John is unwrapping the Snickers bar as he talks, and Rodney watches as John bites into it and a little of the caramel clings to his lips.

“Rodney,” John says, and taps Rodney’s wrist with his knuckles.

“Huh? What?”

“Are we going to need Atlantis to send medical help for you?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Tell ‘em I’m fine.”

John nods and licks at the caramel with his tongue, and Rodney stares, mouth no longer dry, but watering, and not for the half of the candy bar that John hands him.

He hears the laughter of children nearby and is aware, suddenly, of the earthy aromas of baking bread and roasting meat, and realizes they must be near the center of the settlement.

“You know what?” he says, throwing off the light blanket and sitting up. “I think I’ll walk to the gate with you. It’ll do me good. Help clear my head.” He starts feeling around for his boots, and John gets them for him.

“You sure you feel up to it?” John asks. “You were tripping pretty hard barely an hour ago. Plus, they’re cooking up some kind of feast in your honor tonight. I guess having a reaction like that makes you special in their eyes, or something.” John grins at him, and Rodney rolls his eyes. At least, having a ‘reaction like that’ to their Friendship ritual wasn’t some kind of sacrilege. For once. Then John gets to his feet, and Rodney is suddenly at eye level with John’s crotch and he stares right at it, because it’s there, and it’s hard not to, and his mouth is still watering. He puts his hands on John’s thighs, feels them tense under his fingers.

“Rodney.” John probably means for that to sound like a warning, and ‘not here, not now’, but to Rodney’s ears, it sounds more like yearning and ‘yes, please’. John just stands there, hands at his sides, and Rodney can’t tell if John wants him to or not, so he leans in a little, puts his chin where he knows John’s cock is, after seeing him dress to the right a hundred times before, and nuzzles. He feels a little reaction, a little undulating motion under his cheek, and then John’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back a fraction of a centimeter.

“You know the rule,” John says, voice pitched low, but his thumb is scratching against the stubble on Rodney’s jaw, and he still hasn’t moved away. Rodney huffs and bites at the material covering John’s right thigh.

“It’s a stupid rule, and I am _not_ under the influence. I am horny, though.” Rodney anchors his hands on John’s hips and pulls himself up John’s body. Slowly. When he reaches his full height, he presses his lips to John’s ear and whispers to him, “Please? Can I suck your cock, John?”

Rodney tastes the skin at John’s collarbone, feels the pulse thrumming strongly against his lips. John’s arms wrap around Rodney, pulling him closer, and he’s tilting his head to the side as he does when he wants Rodney to nibble that spot under his ear. Rodney smiles against his throat and obliges him, says, “Can I, John? Will you let me suck you?” He presses his palm against John’s cock and strokes. “Right now? Right here, in the middle of town?” He raises John’s hand to his face, and sucks softly on that spot inside John’s wrist, the one that makes John shiver every single time. “If anyone hears us, we can blame it on the Ghanjeet. Yeah?” He rubs his groin on John’s upper thigh, shameless. “Can I play with your balls? Mmmm? I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He kisses each corner of John’s mouth. “I just really need to – need to taste you, need to suck your –”

“God, Rodney, _yes_ already, yes,” John gasps, and now his hands are on Rodney’s shoulders, urging him down. Rodney has time for one quick, smug kiss before he’s back down on his knees. He makes quick work of unfastening John’s belt and slides John’s pants and boxers down enough that they’re out of his way. Sometimes, Rodney likes to suck John through his boxers until his cock is outlined against the wet cotton. He likes to lap at the head of John’s cock when it pushes out of the top of his underwear, really take his time and tease him until John is pleading with him to just go ahead and suck it, come _on_ , Rodney, do it.

Right now, though – Right now, Rodney wants to suck John, wants to swallow him whole, and he can’t remember the last time he was this horny, this insanely hungry for the taste of John.

Rodney licks John’s balls until John’s cock is full and red and straining up against his belly. He takes one of them in his mouth and sucks on it, then the other. He tries sucking them both in at once, but his mouth isn’t quite big enough, so he goes back to softly lapping at them with his tongue. John can come from just that, sometimes, but that’s not what Rodney wants right now. He spreads John’s thighs so he can lick behind his balls, where John’s musky scent is more concentrated, more intoxicating than any weed Rodney’s ever smoked. He lingers there until John takes a step back and bends his knees so that his cock is lined up in front of Rodney’s mouth, and John whispers, _suck it, Rodney, c‘mon, suck me_ , and Rodney doesn’t want to make John beg, so he opens his mouth wide and lets John push it in while he sucks him. John is always careful not to push in too hard or too deep, and sometimes Rodney appreciates that, but today, right now, he wishes John would just fuck his mouth however he wants to, because Rodney’s pretty sure he can come from just that, and he doesn’t think it’s the Ghanjeet making him feel that way. He’s 99.875% sure it’s John, and John’s cock, and the way it tastes, the way it fills his mouth and slides over his tongue.

Rodney swirls his tongue around the head and licks his way down the side of it to where John’s pubic hair is thick and wiry. He slides the flat of his tongue wetly back up the shaft all the way to just under the flared head, where the skin is like satin and the taste is a mixture of cotton and skin and musk, and underneath all of that it’s pure John, and Rodney could stay right there, suckling the tip of John’s cock, breathing heavily through his nose, pretty much forever. He hasn’t put a hand on John’s cock yet, just his mouth, his tongue, his kisses. His fingers are on the back of John’s thighs, smoothing up and over the globes of John’s ass, squeezing, and pulling him even closer.

Rodney listens for every shaky exhalation, every smothered gasp that John makes, every sibilant _yesss_ and he waits for it, waits for the one particular sound John makes in that instant before he loses control and starts moaning and doesn’t care who hears it, or where they are, and that’s when Rodney stops, pulls off with a slurping pop, and takes a deep breath.

John’s eyes fly open, and his hands tighten on Rodney’s shoulders. John is breathing hard, his lips are swollen from where he’s bitten them to muffle his cries, and his face is flushed. Rodney looks up at him, at this beautiful wreck of a man, and he keeps his eyes on John’s as he takes John’s cock in his hand, squeezes it, pulls it to his mouth and kisses the very tip of it. Just kisses it, softly, sweetly, before he takes John’s hands and places them on either side of his face and opens his mouth so that John can fuck into him, any way he wants, hard or easy.

“Jesus, Rodney,” John says, and it sounds like relief, like joy, as John’s hips surge forward, as his cock hits the back of Rodney’s throat, over and over, until Rodney’s fingers reach back and start to circle John’s hole, and John stills, and Rodney feels it on his tongue, the way John’s cock swells and shivers as he comes. Rodney chokes, just a little, but he swallows and keeps swallowing until John’s done, until Rodney has John’s taste on him and in him, and he’s stroking his hands gently over John’s hips, the crease of his thighs where the sweat has gathered and he licks that up, too, resting his cheek on John’s thigh. John finally slides to his knees in front of Rodney, puts his forehead against Rodney’s, his hands on Rodney’s shoulders and just breathes, one ragged breath after another, until Rodney says, “ _Touch_ me,” in a hoarse whisper. John reaches in, and in three jerks, Rodney’s coming all over John’s hand, such sweet, sweet relief, and John’s kissing him, and Rodney’s brain sort of drifts offline. Again.

****

“Hey,” John says, as they approach the gate the next morning and Rodney starts dialing home on the DHD.

“Hmmm?” Rodney looks up as the wormhole establishes. Another beautiful day on Ghanja, and he kind of hates to leave.

John bumps his shoulder into Rodney’s and says, “Are you sure we can’t get them to add the Ghanjeet to their list of trade items?”

“Yep,” Rodney says.

“Damn,” John sighs.

Rodney grins. He reaches in his pocket and fingers the carefully wrapped Token of Friendship the tribal elder had given him earlier that morning.

He can’t wait for the next Team night.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Blow Job Friday prompt, It Wasn't My Fault!


End file.
